Thank You, Alice
by samsquaredd
Summary: Alfred and Arthur, apparently, are not soulmates. Despite his boyfriend's doubts, Arthur doesn't believe there is anyone else in the world he belongs with. But is he right? (usuk, soulmate au)
_Prologue_

Everyone has a number. Everyone. Every nationality, every language, every ethnicity- every human being is born with a number somewhere on their body. That's a fact.

You can see them pretty plainly on most people. On my walk to work alone, I see hundreds of numbers. Tan and brown like freckles on otherwise perfect skin, you can make out all kinds of combinations: 52, 4412, 80210, 00717.

My own number, 36502.

There are all kinds of theories about what they might mean, most of them so brazen that almost no one could believe them.

"It's a government conspiracy! The number is the day they kill you! They did it to Johnny Malkinson! They did it to Paul Fiorini! They did it to Cora Washington! They'll do it to you!"

Speak of the devil. There are about ten false prophets standing outside of this government facility wearing sandwich boards with alleged 'victims'' faces plastered onto them along with the date they died and their number, each a match. Overhead, the US flag ripples in the wind.

"Fight the power!" The man dressed in Cora Washington's face shouts, pushing a brochure at me.

Politely, I take the leaflet and walk across the street, but once I'm away, the pamphlet hits the bottom of the nearest trash bin.

There are more like them.

"Aliens are branding us so they can control our bodies!"

"They are leftover from the war, but this time, the Nazis are coming back for us all! They're in our government and they're going to gas everyone who isn't one of them!"

Alfred watches TV programmes about that nonsense all of the time, shivering in fear and horror as lunatics recall anal probings and experimentations done by little green men in the sky.

"They tell us when our past lives have died," The alleged 'historian' on the telly theorised. Alfred was hypnotised by this one, looking up all possible combinations of 35620 as a date on the internet last night while I ran my fingers through his hair and, in more of an exasperated gesture, my own.

He knows better. He knows full well that the numbers aren't from some fantasy realm of political terrorism and intergalactic intercourse. The numbers are born unto people, that is fact.

But he questions. In the back of his mind, he wonders if what we were taught about the numbers is true.

If trusting the numbers is your only real chance at true love.

"Your number is a sacred gift from on high, let me hear an Amen!"

A preacher and a small choir are out in the park square as I am passing through. A crowd has formed around them, old and young, black and white, man and woman. I pause.

"Amen, pastor!" Someone shouts, followed by resounding applause.

"Your number is God's proof to you, brothers and sisters. God, in all his mighty power and glory has given you the ultimate gift!" The preacher is a marvelous speaker and the crowd is moved to Amens and applause once again before he can continue. "The gift of life and the gift to recreate life through love. God our father loved us so much that he wanted us to share that love with each other! Do you share that love? Who out here are Soulmates? Who has found love through our God, the almighty?"

I can't help it when my face falls. Couples, hand in hand, walk up to the preacher and receive their just praise and blessing.

I love Alfred.

The couples show off their matching birthmarks on their feet, hands, necks, and, like mine, wrists. I can't help but look at my own number. They kiss and people cheer, throwing rose petals at them in the morning sun. Thank God, they say. They are heaven-bound.

I have never loved anyone more than I love Alfred.

But my love isn't enough.

Their marriage rings glint in the sunlight as the clock strikes nine and I am officially late.

"Hey, Arthur!"

Oh, my sweet pet. He runs to me sooner than I can remove my coat and kisses me full on the mouth like a puppy.

"Darling," I mumble through the kiss, knowing that he won't stop even as I speak, "At least let me take off my coat, you do keep the furnace quite busy."

"I hate cold weather," he complains. I already know this, and judging by how handsy he is getting, I already know where he is going with this, too.

I'm smirking against his smiling lips. I press my chest to his and run my finger slowly down his jawline.

"Do you want me to make you warm?"

I know he likes that voice. The deeper and throatier, the more it turns him on. He swallows audibly.

Getting nervous around me this far into our relationship? He's so silly.

God, I love him.

He's licking his lips like he wants to make a move, but he knows that the balance of power has shifted. I can do whatever I please now.

And I am all too pleased to finally remove my coat and shoes.

He is looking at me expectantly after I take off my socks- are my pants next? I'm loosening my tie, does that mean that I'll rip off my shirt?

I almost can't say no to that face. He's even biting his lip.

I think maybe I ought not to tease him today. I lay my head against his chest, run my hands over its wide breadth. I can feel his heartbeat. His muscles are practically vibrating.

Alfred bows his head into the crook of my neck and inhales. He runs his lips gently over my neck and I link my arms around his neck. It feels nice to give into temptation now and again. Kisses cover my neck and shoulders as Alfred peels my shirt off.

Well, maybe more than just now and again.

When did he get so skilled? His timing is perfect today, choosing to kiss just slowly enough and loosen each button with just enough finesse. Foreplay like this was a mere figment of my happy imagination when we first got together. He was always way too rough and fast back then.

How he has grown. How time has flown.

He pauses and draws back.

"What're you going to do now?" I laugh, but he doesn't laugh back. He looks into my eyes with pure lust.

It's my turn to be nervous on the third month of our third year of dating. I swallow deeply as he leans in to my face and closes his eyes.

God, he could take me now.

"Arthur," he whispers.

Oh God, I didn't know how much I needed this. 'Say fuck me,' is all I can think.

"I'm hungry."

He flicks my nose and walks away.

This is our life together. I cook, but Alfred doesn't like how my food often comes out with a bit of crunch and texture. It's called blackened fish for a reason, but he won't have it. He also says I don't use enough seasoning, but he's a tosser because he could "season" it himself with salt and pepper. At the end of the day, he ends up cooking anyway, refusing to acknowledge that his food is so primeval- just full of sugar and salt because that's what satiates. He doesn't appreciate my finer taste, I suppose.

He tries to clean, but he is all too fast and never thorough enough so dust and hair and crumbs of bread remain. He makes the bed wrong as well and never cleans the blinds when he wipes the windows. So, in the end, I have to do the cleaning.

We sleep in the same bed. Alfred picks the sheets and I pick the blanket. He says that I am the bed hog because I steal all of the covers, but I have woken up in the middle of the night with his arm laid plain across my face and his leg resting atop of both of mine.

The best nights are the nights he wants to cuddle. Alfred's strong arms wrapped around me while we are spooning, falling asleep with my head tucked into his shoulder and one hand on his chest, collapsing on top of each other after sex. Whispering to each other into the wee hours of the morning. I love nights where we fall asleep on the couch, my hand still tangled in Alfred's hair as he lay in my lap. I love being close to Alfred.

I love walking to the grocery store with him hand-in-hand. I love saying no to some of the ridiculously fatty things he tries to put in the cart and letting him pick the flavour of ice-cream he most wants. I love how he makes faces at some of the vegetables I pick, saying how I can't cook them anyway…

Well, maybe I don't love that part.

But I do love how Alfred always buys extra to give to animals and the poor. I love how on the walk home from the store, Alfred holds my hand, no matter who stares or sneers. I love that there is a picture of me dangling from a keychain on his lanyard, smiling reluctantly. I love how he remembers everything about me- the flowers I like the best, the nights I most go to the bar, the bars I go to the most, the level of drunk I will probably get depending on what day it is…

Anyhow, when he carries me home from the bar, I only remember the way he smells. The rest of the night before and after is black and blank, but he smells like rainwater and forest pine and honeysuckle. Like syrup and the tree it came from. The lull of his voice against the rushing river of traffic beside us. The texture of his skin just underneath the collar of his shirt the perfect medium between soft and rough. And the feeling in my heart and stomach, like it is warm here. I am safe here. I will never be lonely again with you here.

Alfred…

Watching TV on the couch, I lie under Alfred's lazy arm. I have a perfect view of our numbers.

I wish I didn't.

I pull his arm tighter around my waist, protectively. He blinks questioningly, but I can't meet his gaze.

Is it wrong to say that I don't care who his soulmate is? Is it wrong to say he's mine?

"Alfred," the question hangs on my lips. Do I dare ask it?

"Are you okay, baby?" He kisses our tangled fingers.

When I don't respond, his nose rubs against my cheek. Lips pressed to my cheekbone, he whispers, "Hey."

"What," I breathe back, smiling.

"I love you." He kisses my cheek.

I turn my head.

He grins sheepishly at me, but one look into his eyes and I knew. Never had anyone felt this strongly for me. Never had I felt so strongly back.

Truly, honestly, actually- I love Alfred.

"Alfred," I feel like my head is underwater, I can't breathe, I can't see, I'm being completely swept away by the waves.

"Do you worry at all?"

He cocks his head slightly. "What?"

"I mean," I pause.

"Darling, I know you are more religious than I am…" Fuck, I'm going to lose him if I don't make my point.

"Are you worried about finding your soulmate?" I blurt.

There.

"I mean, if you found her or him would you leave me?"

It's out.

"I mean, I-I only want what would make you happy! I, it's- you should definitely go if you find your soulmate, I won't be lonely or anything,"

Damn it, I am flustering, I can feel my face getting hot and I'm speaking faster than I can think. What makes it all so much worse is that injured puppy-dog look Alfred wears so bloody well: big blue eyes begging me to finish stabbing him with my words.

"Stop making that face stupid," I cry, "I shouldn't have asked!"

I push at his chest, but my boyfriend grabs my hand and presses it closer. Alfred shifts his weight to envelop my entire body.

"Arthur," he purrs comfortingly into my skin.

"If it happens, it happens. But right now, you're stuck with me."

I inhaled deeply and sighed. Alfred smiled. I'd be pacified for now.

As if I felt stuck.

Alfred rubbing my hand with his thumb. His hair falling in soft locks on my forehead. Being wrapped up in Alfred like this wasn't entrapping… it was…

It was perfect. And I was scared.

"What even made you think about that?" He whispered gently.

"On my walk to work today, I heard a sermon in the park…" I trailed off.

"Damn, I can't believe you stopped to listen to it," Alfred said, "You haven't been to church since I took you to meet my parents two years ago."

"It's all rubbish anyway," I scoffed into his arm.

"But you were worried about it," Alfred rubs his cheek against mine.

"I'm not worried about that! Religion and God and whatever, that's all relative," I said, "I was worried about you."

"I was worried that maybe you would take those mindless theories too seriously," I said more quietly, "No one really knows what the numbers are,"

"And I am okay with the mystery but I know you need answers and conclusions and what not. So I was just," My voice lowered to a whisper, "I wanted you to know that no matter what I love you unconditionally."

"Arthur," Alfred chuckled. "You are so clingy, dude."

I most certainly am not! "Well excuse me for having fears, you tosser!" I tried to sit up, but his arms kept me pressed to his chest.

"Sweetie, you can't speak for what hasn't happened yet. Let's live in the present." He kissed me softly.

"And in the present, I love you and no one else."

I do wish Alfred would worry a little more. It would do him some good to have just a little foresight. But at the same time, I need that mindless optimism. My Alfred is so carefree. He's so confident in his silly spur of the moment decisions, like this one where I am laying on my back naked and he is already inserting a finger.

"Mmm," I wish I could suppress these incriminating noises. Inhaling sharply, I arch into his touch.

Oh God, I wish he'd touch me more.

He licks my parting lips.

Kissing deeply, I begin unbuttoning his shirt.

"Haaah," I groan into his skin as he inserts a second finger and rubs back and forth. It feels ridiculously good, almost as good as having his mouth on my cock or his dick deep inside me.

Just thinking about it is making me hunger for it.

"Alfred," I moan.

He loves it when I say his name.

"Hell yeah," he whispers, peeling my underwear off and bending down to kiss me full force on the mouth. Grinding together, we worm our remaining clothes off. Panting, I gently stroke Alfred's throbbing cock.

I would do anything he wants me to.

"Nnh," he grunts. He lifts my legs to rest on his shoulders. I bite my finger in anticipation.

'Please, Alfred,' I say or think, I can't sort my thoughts or my words anymore.

I buck my hips into his embrace.

Alfred lowers himself until bleary eyes can hardly make out the hair on his head. Then, he licks me.

"Mmph!" I clasp a hand over my mouth.

He really has gotten so skillful!

I shouldn't be surprised, I think, as I pant and moan and squirm as Alfred, oh god, teases the head, the shaft, my balls. I'm the one who taught him to worship a dick this way and yet…

"Ahhh!" My toes are curling.

It was fantastic, the feeling of Alfred's mouth encircling me. He's bobbing his head up and down and I begin sucking my fingers. I'm almost a little jealous. I want to touch, I want to suck, I want him to fill my mouth, too.

As if reading my mind, he growls, "Do you want some in your mouth, too?"

That was so dirty, too dirty!

"Alfred," I gasp.

He smirks. The cheeky bastard knows what this does to me. Positioning himself above me, he knows I can barely wait to touch him. That's why he's going so slowly, caressing me gently before giving me access to any part of him.

It's so torturous. How dare he keep those lovely muscles from my tongue, his face from my hands, his cock from my ass! I hate it, I hate how much he teases me, but…

My body can't help but shake in pleasure.

I want to beg for it.

Finally, his cock is near enough to my mouth for me to take it. I want it. I really want it. Stroking his thighs, running my tongue across the inner part first, I bury it in my mouth all the way to the shaft.

I can feel the breath hitch in his mouth near my cock. I grin.

No one beats the master.

I kiss his head gently and run my tongue from the tip to the base and down his balls. He loves it, I can tell, and I laugh as I suck him off languidly.

He's groping my ass, willing me to buck my hips up and I can't help but oblige. He licks the entrance and runs his lips across my cock and I'm so shocked that I recoil and cry in surprise.

Gently, but firmly, he pushes my hips to the couch.

Suddenly, his face is hovering above mine and he's licking his lips.

Take me now.

Whether I think those words or say them is irrelevant.

Alfred is rubbing his head into my entrance.

Fuck, it's amazing, it's pleasure, I need it. I'm quivering under his touch.

How I could ever experience this with another person is so unfathomable as to be unbelievable.

He's drinking me up with those angelic blue eyes, but he doesn't know how good he looks himself. Completely possessed and possessive at the same time. Like he's going to devour me in lust.

Oh, God, Alfred, fuck me.

He pushes in, balls deep.

"Aah!" I arch my back.

"Oh, Alfred, fuck, harder," I'm whining, moaning, moving my hips in time with his thrusts. His cock is hot and thick and it's stretching me beyond my wildest imaginings.

It's perfect.

His thrusts become fast and deep and my moans get louder and hornier. It's a beautiful cacophony of grunting and screaming, pounding and moaning. I can't help it.

I'm in love.

"Al-fred," I gasp, twitching. My cock is pulsing. He's going to make me cum.

"I love you," he says, and I repeat it.

I love you.

We're both dripping, sticky messes. We knew better than to do something like this on the couch.

And in this moment, I realise something.

Fuck the numbers.

If I can't be here, drifting off with Alfred collapsed on top of me, stuck together with cum, kissing lazily and laughing softly all the while, then I don't believe they mean a damned thing.


End file.
